


The Song of the City

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [117]
Category: Dollhouse, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/any, Playing his Guitar in the Lantean moonlight."</p><p>During their retirement on Atlantis, John and Rodney inadvertently discover that Atlantis has a theme song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song of the City

Sometimes John couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t nightmares or PTSD. He just didn’t need as much sleep as he had when he was younger. On the nights when his body was more awake, he’d slide out of bed, scoop up his guitar, and pad over to the balcony.  
  
Most nights Rodney peered at him through the moonlight to make sure it really wasn’t nightmares, and then he’d go back to sleep. One night, about three months into their retirement on Atlantis, John slid out of bed, tugged on a pair of pants, and ambled out onto the balcony with his guitar. Rodney rolled out of bed, fumbled his way into some clothes, and followed. Sat down on the edge of the balcony, legs hanging over, and gazed out at the endless sea.  
  
“Couldn’t sleep either?” John tuned the guitar idly.  
  
“Don’t sleep as well when you’re not there.”  
  
“Oh. I could stay in bed and read, if you prefer.”  
  
“No, don’t worry. I just - notice. When you’re gone.” Rodney smiled at him. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I just - sometimes Songwriter is inspired and likes to look at the sea. Or Brian wants a chance to ruminate in the moonlight. And sometimes I just want to play my guitar.” John began playing a familiar riff.  
  
Rodney, who’d always tended toward classical music or trance music or jazz or anything without lyrics that didn’t break his concentration when he was working, tended to be oblivious to popular rock music, but he recognized this song.  
  
Under the Bridge.  
  
John sang sweetly with Songwriter’s voice. “ _Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner._ ”  
  
Rodney joined in. “ _Sometimes I feel like my only friend is the city I live in, the city of angels._ ” He knew his singing voice wasn’t particularly beautiful, but he could keep a tune.  
  
“ _Lonely I as I am, together we cry._ ”  
  
Rodney blinked, startled. A girl had joined in with them on that last line. He glanced at John, whose eyes were wide, but he kept on strumming, and the girl sang on.  
  
Halfway through the next verse, another woman joined the girl, and John and Rodney joined in for the chorus.  
  
Someone a couple of balconies below took up the beat. Who on Atlantis knew how to beat-box?  
  
By the time they reached the third verse, a couple of boys had joined in, singing with them, voices rising toward the moonlight, and Rodney was pretty sure he could hear another guitar in unison with John’s.  
  
At the final chorus, there was an entire choir singing with them, different voices ringing out from various balconies, some on melody, some on harmony, some adding to the rhythm, and the song filled the night.  
  
When it was finished, everyone broke into cheers.  
  
John and Rodney stood up, peered over the balcony, and saw dozens and dozens of Lanteans, standing on their balconies, faces turned toward the silver moons, smiling and grinning and cheering.  
  
“What just happened?” Rodney whispered to John.  
  
“I don’t know,” John whispered back. But he cleared his throat, called out, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you all.”  
  
The girl on the balcony beside theirs was - Lizzy Mare. Teyla’s daughter. “You did not wake us,” she said. “Some of us do not sleep all through the night, as John Sheppard does not. But we all sing the Song of the City.”  
  
Rodney raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you call it? The ‘Song of the City’?”  
  
“Of course,” said Lizzy Mare. “What else would we call the song between the man and the city who loves him?”  
  
“Right.” John flashed her an awkward smile, nodded back toward their living quarters. “That was good times. We’ll keep it down next time.” And he dragged Rodney back to bed.  
  
Rodney supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, a few nights later, when he woke and John was sitting on the balcony with his eyes closed, head tipped back toward the moons, listening to the rest of Atlantis singing _the city she loves me_.


End file.
